Chronic
by athousandsmiles
Summary: Five times House told Cameron yes. Mild M rating.


**A/N:** My lovely friend sharp2799 turned this story into a Word document for me so that I could upload it here, and it worked. Proper formatting and everything. Three cheers for sharp2799. \0/ This was written for a prompt at hughvillefics on LJ.

Five Times House told Cameron Yes

Back from a week of conferences, Cameron is weary and wired at the same time. She's missed House, though she (probably) won't tell him that.

Straight home from the airport, she plops her suitcase on the bed and heads right back out the door to his place. It's early on a Saturday, but she doesn't want to wait any longer to see him. She knocks briefly, listening through the door until she hears a muffled response. Assuming it's an invitation of sorts, she lets herself in and finds him sprawled on the couch with the glare of the television casting a light show across his body.

"You busy?" she asks, immediately cringing when the words leave her mouth.

"Yes," he answers, giving her a mocking look. "It a _How I Met Your Mother_ marathon. I just _have_ to know if Ted will marry Zoe."

"Fine, it was a stupid question. Do you want to have sex or not?" she mutters impatiently, wondering if it was a bad idea to come over this early in the day.

"Well, when you put it that way," he replies, reaching out and jerking her toward him. "That would be a yes."

"Hi," she says, as if she can start their whole conversation over, bending low and kissing him. It comes out far more intimate than she planned, her feelings leaking out through that one simple word, but he doesn't say anything.

He responds just as she hoped, sitting up and pulling her in for better access. She sits carefully, avoiding his bad leg while zoning in on his mouth, his neck, his jawline, all her favorite spots. Pulling away, he stands and motions toward the bedroom and she moves ahead of him, shedding clothes as she goes and carrying them draped over her arm. Moments later, she's naked in his bed, reacquainting herself with his body, and it's as good as she remembers after a long week away. There's pretty much nothing House isn't brilliant at, including sex. Except maybe connecting with others, she thinks sadly.

The room is quiet in the aftermath, her heart tap-dancing in her chest as she catches her breath. She can still hear the TV in the other room; she's' pretty sure Ted and Zoe are doomed.

"So... did you miss me?" she asks, trying to keep the question light and humorous.

"No," he says without hesitation.

"I didn't think so," she says, smiling in an effort to hide the jolt of pain his nonchalant answer causes her. She's known this has always been just sex for him. The only thing he'd miss without her is the money he'd have to pay out to his hookers. But she can't fool herself any longer that she's not in way over her head. House is a chronic condition she's contracted: incurable, often painful, and difficult to manage. Sex with him has only deepened her attachment to him. Problem is, she'll never be a chronic condition to him. Time to put a stop to this before she really gets hurt.

While she's thinking, he dozes like a man without a care in the world. She rises and gathers her clothes from the chair where she laid them, moving quietly so as not to disturb him. She's never really stayed over, at first out of consideration for him, but later out of a need for self-preservation. Obviously it didn't work, she thinks, as she slides her bra straps up over her shoulders.

"Where are you going?" he asks, stirring out of sleep to prop himself up on his elbows and look at her.

"Home," she answers, trying to sound casual. "I haven't been home for a week. I've got things to do. Laundry, food shopping..."

"Boring," he mumbles, rolling over and planting his face in the middle of his pillow, then raising it again to say, "Why'd you come over here in the first place?"

"I was horny," she answers, and it's at least half true. "See you later." By that she means, "Goodbye." She has no intention of coming back. Eventually he'll figure it out and life will go back to the way it was before.

When she arrives home again, she makes a quick shopping list, gathers up her laundry and the giant stack of mail that's piled up while she's been away, and heads out. She's become an expert at multi-tasking, which has the added benefit of distracting her from her thoughts about House. At the laundromat, she sorts her mail while her clothes are in the washer. Once she switches her things to the dryer, she pops in to the market next door and grabs the stuff from her list. She's back to get her laundry just as the machines finish their cycle, so she folds it all carefully and loads it back into her car.

Her arms are laden with bags and baskets as she struggles up the stairs to her apartment. She's stubborn about trying to carry it all in one go rather than making several trips, and she vows to get herself one of those wheeled laundry carts one of these days. She drops the basket by the door and fumbles with her key in the lock. When she opens it, she pushes her basket through with her foot, sliding it across the carpet. It's then that she finds House sitting on her couch, a large duffle bag beside his feet. In his hands he twirls his cane, round and round and round, paying little attention to the movement. She feels a sudden kinship with that cane.

"House? What are you doing here?"

"You said you were doing laundry. Thought you could just add mine to yours," he says, inclining his head toward the bag.

"Well mine's already done, but even if it wasn't, I wouldn't do your laundry for you," she snaps. Honestly, she thinks, it's bad enough she's let him use her for sex. At least she got something out of it too, because she likes sex a lot. But if he thinks she's going to do his laundry for him, he's delusional. She's not as much of a masochist as everyone thinks.

Ignoring whatever response he's working up, she heads to the kitchen with her shopping bags and starts putting things away. A moment later, he corners her against the counter, pinning her there without even touching her.

"You're mad," he states, and his eyes are two vivid blue spotlights searching her face.

She releases a sigh, as if the pressure inside her has pushed its way out, and reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not mad," she says, "just tired." And it's true. She's tired of hurting, wanting, feeling things in this one-sided relationship.

"Ask me your question again," he says, looking down into her eyes.

Baffled, she just stares back, mind churning as she wonders what he's talking about, what game he's playing now. She's vaguely aware that she's got a carton of yogurt in her hand, condensation wetting her palm. "What question?"

He rolls his eyes impatiently and says, "The question you asked me back at my place."

It takes her another minute and then her brain catches up. "Oh, you mean... Did you miss me?"

"Yes," he says, "I missed you. Now ask me another question. Ask me anything you want. I'll tell you the truth."

"Why? Why are you doing this?"

"Because... I don't want you to leave me," he confesses to the counter top, pulling the yogurt from her hand and setting it aside. "I know you were saying goodbye earlier."

"Fine," she says, wondering how he always knows exactly what she's thinking despite her best efforts to hide it. He really should've had a career as a mind reader. "Do you want me around for anything more than just sex?"

"Yes." His answer is a soft murmur aimed at the floor this time, and then he's looking into her eyes again, all honesty and uncertainty.

Her vision is suddenly blurred, and she looks away, blinking rapidly to try rid herself of the tears threatening to fall. House doesn't help when he tilts her face up, and swipes with his thumb at one that got away, which only seems to make the rest follow in its path.

"Do you think you could ever love me?" she says, sniffling in a way she's sure is unattractive.

"Yes," he says. "Any other questions?"

"I can't think of any at the moment," she responds, soft and low, and he says, "Good," and then leans down and kisses her, his palms framing her face as if it's precious to him.

After countless kisses, he wraps his arms around her so tight she can feel his heart beating against her skin. It seems to say, "I missed you," over and over again, which echoes her own heartbeat. He's never held her like this, like she means something to him, like he doesn't want to ever let her go.

Maybe, just maybe, she's a chronic condition he's contracted. That makes her smile.

It's good to be home.


End file.
